You open the front door and step into the dingy stairwell of a rundown apartment building. The wallpaper, what's left of it anyway, is yellowed with age, and the air is thick with dust. Somewhere upstairs, behind one of the apartment doors a baby is wailing. You check the address your agent wrote down for you on a scrap of paper. "This can't be right," you think to yourself as you climb the stairs, "Why would Disney hold an audition for Pirates Of The Caribbean 4 here?" But at the top of the stairs, there it is: a door improbably marked "Suite 2A." Taped to door is a sign, well, a torn piece of looseleaf paper that reads, "Disney Audishuns 2Day." You take a deep breath and knock.
A disheveled man in a flannel shirt and striped pajama bottoms opens the door. He's wearing a light meter around his neck like a police badge.
"I..I'm here for the Pirates 4 auditions?" you manage.
"Of course you are." the man says as he takes your hand and leads you inside the apartment, "Come in, Coco, come in."
"Oh, I'm not Coco," you say. "My name's.."
"Shh. Shh," the man interrupts. "Everyone's Coco here. Ain't you never been to a Disney audition before? I thought you were a real actress."
"I am," you say, "It's just…"
"Good," the man says, gesturing toward a dirty-looking futon in the middle of the living room. "Then you know what to do. Stand over there. Just lemme get my Flipcam and we'll do the Jiggle Your Jugs test."
"The what?"
"The Hollywood-style Jiggle Your Jugs test. I thought you said you done this before?"
"Oh, uh, I have. Lots of times."
"Well, then, you understand. You don't want a Pirates movie to look fake, do ya?" The man stands in front of you, training his Flip cam right on your chest. "So just, uh, jump around a bit."
Your eyes begin to well with tears. "I can't," you sob. "I can't."
"Sure you can. Just, like, jog in place." The man says.
Slowly, you begin to move in place, tears streaming down your face.
"That's it, Coco. It's just jogging. Now take your top off. That's tres jolie, Coco. Tres jolie. Now say, 'Argh, this be me treasure chest.'"
From The NY Post:
Disney is searching for real treasure chests for its upcoming shoot of the next "Pirates of the Caribbean" swashbuckler — that is, women with natural breasts.
The movie studio has banned actresses with artificial enhancements for the fourth installment, "Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides," directed by Rob Marshall and starring Johnny Depp as the drunken buccaneer Jack Sparrow. The filmmakers sent out a casting call last week seeking "beautiful female fit models. Must be 5ft7in-5ft8in, size 4 or 6, no bigger or smaller. Age 18-25. Must have a lean dancer body. Must have real breasts. Do not submit if you have implants."
To make sure LA talent scouts don't get caught in a "booby trap," potential lassies will have to undergo a Hollywood-style jiggle-your-jugs test and jog for judges. If there's nothing moving from the waist up, they're saying, it's a dead giveaway that you're not all flesh and bones — and you're out.
Obviously, this casting call sounds completely legitimate, but "Booby trap"? "Real treasure chests?" Come on, NY Post. You can do better—this story was practically made for the Post. How often do you get to write a story that's begging for pirate-themed puns about breasts? What about "Ahoy, Mammaries" or "Thar she boobs"?